


Attraction (or lack thereof)

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, also a rewrite of 'attached', asexual demiromantic picard, discussions of aromanticism, written for pride month 2k17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: Over the years, there had been things Jean-Luc Picard had grown to understand. Attraction, however, was not one of them.





	Attraction (or lack thereof)

Over the years, there had been things Jean-Luc Picard had grown to understand. Attraction, however, was not one of them.

He’d always been remembered as the charming ladies’ man at the Academy and after, but the truth had been rather different. Romance was an idealistic way of life to him. Girls flattered him with the mention of his poetic heart. As rowdy as he was in his younger days, he also seemed to take a liking to literature, which earned him the female attention he was known for. Occasionally, he’d meet a girl who enjoyed the writings he published in the Academy student tabloid, and he’d take a liking to her. Then he would take the initiative to invite her to dinner. At the dinner, they’d talk and drink. As the liquor flowed and the conversation rolled off their tongues like sweet sherry, someone would initiate a romantic gesture or two, and it wouldn’t be him. He’d receive soft, tender kisses on the cheek, but it was rare for him to give them. It was always at this point in the date, where he’d feel that something in him wasn’t quite clicking, and the flutterings of his heart and the lightheadedness of a crush would magically disappear. For as much as he tried, he couldn’t quite find the magnetic pull that drew him to the lovely lady sitting before him in the first place. But he’d usually lie about it to avoid disappointment.

So the liquor flowed and desires emerged to the surface, but he couldn’t recover that attraction that had somehow slipped away from him. Not even after nights of satisfying said desires, usually at his quarters, which left him in the morning with the same bitter afterthought - _what the hell was so great about sex anyway?_

These encounters would not appear in his journals, despite his great frustration over something he was sure didn’t happen so typically to everyone. It happened so often, like clockwork, that he didn’t feel that those encounters were any more noteworthy than what he had for breakfast that day. Shying away from conversations about his love life, he found himself lying to his closest friends as he was ashamed of the fact that he had found his date aesthetically attractive, but couldn’t bring himself to _just_ – they’d label him as frigid, broken, or maybe something worse. Even thinking about it was challenging. It was difficult to consider something that didn’t exist, especially if he had nothing to compare it to in the first place.

He drifted away from people he’d been friends with for years – it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it was natural that he’d be left out of their lives after they’ve moved on with life, fallen in love and gotten married. Attending many of their weddings with a heavy heart, he wished that he’d one day be able to feel the same love for another person. The feelings of envy intensified, and he slipped into the backgrounds of his friends’ lives.

Sometimes, his former Academy classmates would point out the irony, that even though he was quite the charmer in his younger days, he had ended up an eternal bachelor.

He almost had a chance with the young cadet Beverly Howard, years after he left the Academy. He remembered those years fondly, when they spent a lot of time together. He spent a lot of that time feeling excited. Excitement because he was always hanging on a thread, wondering when he would see her again; excitement because every shared moment gave him such spirited joy; excitement because it was hard to put her out of his mind, even just for a sliver of a second. They were friends to begin with, but he had the intense, deep longing of being closer than friends. To be honest, he wasn’t very certain if it was just the usual infatuation at first, but as the days grew into months, he found that the feelings grew deeper. Beverly, and the blissful life he wanted for the both of them, was a constant fantasy for him. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted her in his most intimate thoughts. But most of all, he wanted her in a very special place of his life, one he had been looking to fill for a long time.

But then she got married to a very lucky Jack Crusher, and he was alone again.

So he busied himself with his work, in order to avoid the feelings of guilt and shame, for he was still deeply emotionally attached to Beverly. Eventually, he considered himself married to the stars, and eternally devoted to his ship. There was the odd romantic encounter here and there, but he was disappointed to find the cold emptiness again.

Twenty years passed, and now Beverly was back in his life, but again the situation was complicated.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Beverly snaps him out of his haze of discussion buzzing around in his mind. Jean-Luc sits back in his chair, bringing up their shared mental experience, but that’s not the most important thing on his mind.

He’s still thinking about the conversation they had by the fire. Those feelings, now that he had gotten them off his chest – were they real at all to begin with? Or was it just an illusion of his yearning mind? Outwardly, he seems to be dozing off with a blank stare, but internally his mind was plans his confession. He could have gone his whole life without saying it, but with the only woman he ever loved it was different.

“I-” he starts, but his breath catches in his throat and he doesn’t know how to continue. “Never mind,” he grumbles, ignoring the unprofessional manner he’s carrying himself.

Beverly leans forward in concern. “Out with it, Jean-Luc,” she chides, in good will, “I know you’re hiding something. You can’t keep everything bottled up forever.”

He clasps his hands, attempting to put his words in the most careful way possible. “It’s come to mind that, you’re possibly the first and only woman I’ve ever loved, and I’m not using this expression in a sentimental way, it’s just that...” He trails off, hanging on the edge of his seat for her response.

She chuckles, and the sound of her laughter sends electricity racing up and down his spine, and reaches into his heart. He can’t help but crack a smile, but Beverly continues.

“I don’t see how that’s such a thing you need to keep bottled up.”

He pauses, then reaches out for her hand. She takes his hand, and it fits perfectly. Locking in like an ever-so-perfect puzzle piece, and he wants to cherish this moment forever. He’s holding her hand delicately, like the caress of a butterfly’s wings or the soft shimmering of moonlight on water, afraid to break it. He’s also afraid of breaking the feeling that washes over him, the feeling of finding relief in love. His breath hitches in his throat as he moves to sit beside her on the sofa. He’s been waiting for this moment for decades, and if the feelings were to suddenly go away again he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

“To my knowledge, I have never felt this kind of attraction to any other person. Every time I try to start a romantic encounter, I end up coming away from it with an absence of attraction.” He begins, starting to retreat back into himself again. His mind urges him on, but he still finds it hard to be honest.

“And?” Beverly prompts.

“I’ve lied to almost everyone I’ve encountered in the past, for the sake of saving my face. I didn’t want anyone to think I was-”

“Broken?” Beverly cuts in.

“Yes,” Jean-Luc nods, “broken.” He pauses, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s as if you read my mind.”

“I don’t need a psi-wave transmitter to know what you’re thinking. I know you just fine.” Beverly brings up her free hand to cup the side of his face, and he finds himself leaning in.

He raises his other hand to his cheek, bringing her hand from her face. He grips both of her hands, trying not to seem too nervous. “Beverly, I kept this from everyone for all my life because-”

“There’s nothing broken about you.” Beverly assures, “You’re just, fine!” She moves, resting her head on his shoulder. Pulling her in, Jean-Luc rests his cheek on the top of his head, and sighs deeply as he enjoys her quiet presence.

“Honestly, when I first met you, I didn’t know whether those feelings were real or not. I thought I was just imagining I had feelings for you because I wanted to be in love with someone so badly,” He confesses, “but I think I have my confirmation. Beverly, I-”

“Love you,” Beverly finishes.

Jean-Luc gives a small laugh of relief. “Would you stop ending my sentences for me?”

Beverly leans further into him. “You secretly loved it, didn’t you? When our thoughts lay bare before each other.”

“I suppose I did. It was intimidating, though, to have access to your deepest thoughts.” Jean-Luc expresses. He feels Beverly’s hair brush against his cheek, and she pulls away. They spend a second gazing at each other, immersed in each other.

They remain silent for another moment.

“It’s about professionalism again, isn’t it?” Jean-Luc asks.

Beverly nods, in a subdued manner. “It isn’t right. Our feelings could compromise something far more crucial. I think it’s best that we-”

Jean-Luc reaches out for Beverly’s hand as she rises from the sofa. “Stay with me.”

Beverly considers the situation for a brief moment. “I can’t.” Her voice wavers.

“We know we’ve both wanted this for so long, Beverly. If not now, when?” His voice quickens in urgency, and the softening look on her face tells him he’s getting to her.

“We might not even be alive tomorrow,” She adds, in a spot of grave humour. “That makes it all the more important that we live our lives to the fullest.” She finishes her drink, and rejoins Jean-Luc on the sofa.

“I’m still not very sure about this, but I’m willing as ever to give it a try.” Beverly says, snuggling into him.

He gives her a peck on the cheek, brushing a lock of blazing red hair off her forehead. “Thank you.”

The night draws them closer together, and by morning they are as inseparable as magnets.


End file.
